


Haikus For Ocean Blue Eyes

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: FitzHunter Stories [18]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Leo Fitz, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Writer Lance Hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Fitz works in the little café Hunter visits frequently to write his novel. They are both pining, but neither one finds the courage to ask the question of questions.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Lance Hunter
Series: FitzHunter Stories [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1103583
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	Haikus For Ocean Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellsey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellsey/gifts).



> Written for the Final Mission Rarepair Exchange, prompt was: "They keep running into each other somewhere (coffee shop) and try to work up the nerve to ask each other out". 
> 
> Thanks for the lovely prompt, @ellsey, I hope you enjoy the story :)

[Fitz]

The writer comes every Tuesday and Friday. He sits on the exact same table, in the right corner beside the biggest window, which shows a snippet of the busy downtown, and puts a laptop in front of him. It has an old sticker on it that says “God save the Queen”. 

The man always orders a pint and a whole pot of English Breakfast Tea. At the same time. It is a strange combination that makes Fitz feel a little uneasy. 

After a first careful sip of his tea, the man cracks his fingers and starts to type, his keyboard making rhythmic clattering noises. He stays for a few hours, eventually ordering a piece of cheesecake, eating it with his brown eyes glued to the screen. 

When he’s finished with his cake, the man disappears and comes back next Tuesday and Friday. It is a routine. 

What luck - or mishap? - that Fitz always works on Tuesdays and Fridays. 

He is the barista serving the writer his pint, tea and cheesecake. And he really hopes that he doesn’t blush, or stumble over the few words he says, or trip over something and fall on his face under the man’s gaze. Because … Fitz is attracted to writer guy. Like, a lot. So much, he already daydreams about certain things. Like kissing. And he probably blushes while doing it. Because Fitz literally blushes all the time. His pasty skin does nothing to hide the cherry red of embarrassment. 

Sometimes, Fitz wishes the writer would have chosen another café … Seriously, how did he find this one?! It’s so small and unobtrusive. It’s nothing compared to Starbuck, where most other laptop users sit on the high bar chairs and drink expensive latte. 

But Fitz rather likes his job at the tiny café, fittingly called “Little Haven”. He likes that it is never really busy here. Quiet jazz music is floating gently between the tables while the few chatting guests are lounging in blue armchairs and Miss Marple, the café cat, strolls around, collecting the occasional pet. Fitz also likes the smell of coffee and baking cake always lingering here. There is nowhere he would rather work. 

Fitz took this job mainly because studying isn’t exactly cheap. Fitz’s mother is not rich, but they aren’t poor either. Fitz is just earning the extra money for things like books, so he can make his little flat look a bit more like home, and occasional new clothes or proper tea, which is hard enough to find around here anyway. 

But now, he is kind of annoyed by this writer guy, who sits there in all his handsomeness, looking innocent like he is not aware of it all. 

The writer glances up when Fitz puts his pint on the table and smiles. The smile easily reaches his eyes, making them sparkle, and Fitz thinks he discovers hints of brighter green in them, like diamonds. “Thanks,” the writer says with a nice British accent. Fitz nods and he thinks he blushes. At least his face warms up way too fast. He quickly turns around, telling himself he didn’t let his gaze wander over the man’s perfect arms and the muscular chest, which the tight white shirt didn’t hide at all, nope … 

Okay. Maybe, he did. And not for the first time, because … Well, the guy is eye candy. From his nerdy glasses, to his warm greenish eyes, to his light stubble and strong jaw. 

Fitz busies himself with cutting lemon slices behind the counter, throwing occasional glances into the guy’s direction. He looks so good, only his posture looks slightly unhealthy. He’s bent over the table, his shoulders hunched as he writes in a rush only to stop again, his eyes narrowed and the crease between his eyes deep. The tip of his tongue is barely visible between his lips. Fitz wonders if he’s in a slump. At loss for words. 

“Stop drooling,” Daisy says dryly, shocking Fitz out of his ogling and giving him a _look_. 

Fitz glares at his colleague and friend. “I didn’t …”

Daisy rolls her eyes and reaches for the amaretti over Fitz’s head. “Oh come on, Romeo. Don’t try to tell me you don’t look at “Mr. Sexy and Thoughtful” over there every time he sits down on his attractive bum,” Daisy smirks. 

Fitz feels himself blushing more. He focuses on the lemon slices. “You’re one to talk. You’re basically undressing the woman who always gets her to go coffee every day, with your eyes!” 

Daisy arches a brow, looking mildly surprised. “Piper? Nah, I just like her hair.” 

Fitz snorts. “Now you are lying. How do you even know her name?!” 

Daisy just shrugs and grins, turning away. Fitz doesn’t miss that she blushed lightly as well and it makes him grin. He just hopes Daisy will ask Piper out one day. He thinks they would make a great couple. 

Fitz glances back at the writer, whose fingers fly over the keyboard again. Fitz wishes he could see what he’s typing. But every time someone comes too close, the man either clicks away the page, or half-closes his laptop and takes a sip of his tea instead. 

So his writing remains a mystery, just as his name. 

Sometimes, Fitz wonders what the guy would do, if Fitz asked him out. Like, he could write a message and his number on a coffee cup or on a napkin or something. But no. Fitz is way too shy for something like that. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself. And harmless ogling doesn’t cost anything, right? 

  
  


[Hunter]

  
  


Hunter likes “Little Haven”. 

He came for the great tea and stayed for … well. For the handsome guy behind the counter, if he is being honest. 

Not for the first time, Hunter finds himself getting lost. He abandons his Work in Progress - a novel about a former assassin who joins a ragtag team of secret agents saving the world - and instead types a few lines about the barista’s ocean blue eyes. It becomes a haiku. Again. 

Hunter just can’t help himself. 

He watches as the guy balances his tray, stepping over the café cat and almost tripping over a bag on the floor which is hastily pulled back by a startled looking girl. The barista’s face is determined, a light crease between his eyes and a stray curl hanging into his forehead. Hunter watches and once again asks himself, what would happen if he just asked. For a date. Would the guy laugh? Or would he startle and take a step back? 

Hunter thinks and wonders and almost misses how the guy says, “Bloody hell!” loudly, because he didn’t see Hunter’s stupid bag on the floor and this time, he does trip, the glass on the tray shaking threateningly while he tries to get his balance back. It finally tips over and Hunter startles when the cool liquid soaks his pants. 

The barista stares at the quickly forming wet spot on Hunter’s knees wide-eyed, his lips parted in shock. He looks so pretty like this. Blushed and abashed. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” the guy gasps. 

Hunter shrugs and smiles. “It’s nothing. Those jeans are centuries old, trust me. I wanted to get rid of them anyway!” He laughs when the striped café cat jumps into his lap and smells at the beer spot, her nose wrinkling. She looks up at Hunter accusingly, like she thinks he is the one to blame for this. Which, actually, he is, right? He should have moved his bag somewhere safer.

The barista shoos the cat away, shaking his head. “No, I’m … I’m really sorry, I’m such a klutz. Can I do anything, uh, do you want anything, I mean …” He stops talking, blushing even more. 

“First, things like this happen to everyone, mate,” Hunter tells him, reaching for a tissue and rubbing at his pants. “Second, if you really insist on doing something ... “ Oh shite. Here we go … “You could ask me out.” 

Hunter’s breath gets stuck in his throat. There. He did it. He asked. 

The barista blinks down at him, his hand frozen in the air. 

Hunter clears his throat. “I’m Hunter, by the way. Lance Hunter. But I prefer Hunter.” God. Stop rambling, he tells himself. This is getting embarrassing.

“Fitz,” the barista says quickly. “I’m … Well, I’m Leo Fitz, but I prefer Fitz.” He smiles carefully and Hunter laughs. 

“Did you … Were you serious?” Fitz asks timidly. 

Hunter beams up at him. “About you, taking me out? Sure. Yeah. 100% sure.” 

Fitz smiles. It makes his eyes sparkle and Hunter always has the perfect haiku in his head. It involves the word azure. 

A few days later, when they eat pizza, Hunter lets Fitz read it. 


End file.
